


There is Only Loss

by Ozma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozma/pseuds/Ozma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She will never see her child, but perhaps she'll meet Joanna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is Only Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Game of Ships - Ships in a (fort)night, prompt:  
>  _"We can die by it, if not live by love."_
> 
> Arya's older than in canon.

_The bleeding won't stop_ \- she hears the women around her murmur in quiet, panicked voices. They believe she is unable hear them, but even the slightest of whispers sounds like a scream in Arya’s state, senses heightened, body pushed beyond its furthest limits.  
  
Tywin speaks next, but his words are obscured as another spike of pain pierces through her body, feeling much like a jagged-edged blade twisting in her gut. The greatest of her pain has been reduced and is no longer an all-encompassing shroud, but her innards still churn, her sight remains blurred, her mind refuses to clear, a fogginess that only extends further and further by the moment. Arya doesn't know how long it has been - hours, days, perhaps - but exertion beyond breathing becomes more difficult at each exhale.  
  
The voices drone on and on; even Tywin's becomes shallower and more distant, recognizable only because he is the sole male in her presence. As the women move away from her, taking the small creature that she labored so hard to birth, Arya wants to stop them, to draw them back, at least for a moment. She attempts to speak, but only the slightest of sounds, indecipherable as words of any tongue, leave her lips. When she tries to grasp out and lift her hand, her body does not respond, the only movements produced are small twinges in her fingers. Arya feels like she should scream in anger and frustration, to demand them return her the child, but all she feels is a cool placidness, a feeling that very much reminds her of her husband, comforting and calm, welcoming in its own way.  
  
Then the screeching starts, a sound that pierces into the depths of her very soul. It's a horrible – wonderful - shriek, high in pitch and volume, a tiny roar, but to Arya, it is a warm melody of comfort and satisfaction that accompanies her into the deepest of nights.


End file.
